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lørdag 30. august 2014

Stable chaos

Another bus in front of me. There is a screeching sound in the background, a nice mix-up of Muslim vibrations from the mosque, and simply a loud weeeeaaaahh, fronting its never ending message to the world. My head is fuzzy, after just some hours of sleep, shortened by my roommate who got up really early and then just sat on her bed for 20 minutes staring at her phone. I tried a timid hello, but I probably looked like some alien right then, my right eye swollen after my contact-lens had an eye-raveparty. I've bought some tea, ice-coffee, juice and water (just a little bit thirsty). Some softdrink god must have disapproved since I did it again (Ooops).

My typical style of life: put too much in your hands, so that you effectively loose everything on the floor. This particular morning gravitation met my tea-cup. I can hear my chaos-god laughing loudly at my 100th mistake, but I still don't think I've learnt the lesson. The clock is 8, my bus will head for the Vilnius airport in 20 minutes. My plane back to Oslo leaves 09:45, thankfully the airport is just 5 km away.

I put down the love of my life, mr Iphone, to let my thoughts roam for a while. I watch a green tree in front of me, noticing how the wind tickles the leaves and get into post-happy mood at once.

I have a warm feeling running through me, lifting up compassion, that I cradle in my arm. My inner cinema begins the movie of the the little girl I saw on the bus ride to Riga. She was putting her head on her fathers shoulders, and I remember glimpses from yesterday and days before that. I hear excerpts from emails recited inside, melting like Lithuanian chocolate. I remember her brown, sparkling eyes and nods of compassion and agreement. Yes, I like where my thoughts are, and especially the memory of when we looked at each other in the cafeteria. It was a moment of silence, but with messages being sent back and forth between the lines. I grabbed one of them and said: I'm so glad we found each other (literally, we couldn't find each other. But also that we started to talk together). It's like whipped cream on hot chocolate (yep, still thirsty), almost to good to be true.

She drew the curtains away from my dirty windows several times, and out came precious memories, retold with animation and respect for the ones in it. Her thoughtfulness seeped through everything she said, no matter if she told me about places they've seen, people they met or people she loved. Her brother Emmanuel (the three E's) was with us, also contributing with insightful comments on their story. Sometimes they finished each others sentences, if they not continued it out of eagerness before the other was done. He was so calm, handling everything in the world. His violin shoulders not protesting against the task of bearing others in mind constantly. Not to mention the ambitiousness that have brought them so many experiences and given them and others so much love.

When she goes home, there is more work to be done. I see her in my mental theater, in front of a white piano together with a student, passionately making sure they get the message she wants to deliver to their potential.

A sound disturbed my walk on memory lane. 'Please remember to only take one piece of hand luggage. . I've thoroughly watered liquidized myself with coffee, drinking yoghurt, tea and water, feeling slightly nauseated by the rapid intake. Again, I see number 22 in front of me, it has been around me all the time during this trip, pushing me on and telling me I'm doing this for my own sake (22 is my birth-date) . The clock was even 22.00 when we finally started walking towards our cafe yesterday, chatting about how we ran back and forth like Crazy looking for each other. 'I said to my brother, we won't give up before we find her'. She smiles, probably dead tired from lack of sleep and a quite special and stressful afternoon.

One flight, hard bump in the head after one refreshing rain-shower and three bottles of tax-frees later, sitting and waiting for a bus I think I will not take. I thought I had time in Oslo to get my luggage, but seems like I must be extraordinarily fast if want to accomplish that. Nothing in me is turned on top speed, so I skip my original plan, loose some money in the process, but gain some peace that I desperately need.

The flight back to Oslo was spent in between the skies and earth, in my own creative world. That's where I build strange buildings (inspiration: Emmanuel) and think about stuff like: How funny would it be to actually smear yellow marmalade at those ladies ? And that Ryanair use a lot of psychological tricks to sell stuff, but how I don't like how they smear it over people so they feel sticky and just want to wash it away. Most of all I been relieving yesterday. How many memories can just three hours produce? A lot, and I love taking the memory-carousel again and again. I am not sure, I only know how much I love carousels.

For now, the ride is over. I will walk on familiar ground again, but with my disorientation, I'll never be sure which road I'm walking on. Luckily, I love new places even when I stumble and loose everything. My balance is always there. My stable chaos, we will always walk hand in hand.